Find Me Now
by blue252
Summary: "It had been a mistake. All of it really. The drinks, the company, the dress. How she had thought any of it would ease the ache in her chest was beyond her. Because it hadn't. Not at all." Four-shot - based off of The Limey/To Love and Die in LA. Now Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Find Me Now**

"_It's clear that you and Castle have something real. And you're fighting it. But trust me, putting your job ahead of your heart is a mistake. Risking our hearts is why we're alive. The last thing you want is to look back on your life and wonder… if only."_

It had been a mistake. All of it really. The drinks, the company, the dress. Damn this stupid dress. How she had thought any of it would ease the ache in her chest was beyond her. Because it hadn't. Not at all.

One thing just led to the next.

She'd turned Colin Hunt down. Maybe a couple years ago he would have been exactly the kind of man she'd have wanted. He was determined, smart, handsome. There was no harm in having a drink. But he wasn't what she wanted. Wasn't _who_ she wanted.

The problem was _who_ she wanted clearly didn't want _her._

Was she fun? She hadn't been fun lately. At least not the kind of fun she felt certain he'd been referring to. He was who had filled her days with laughter. Uncovered her secret smiles and brought a joy into her life that she hadn't felt in years. But the last few weeks had been hell with each passing day that he pulled further away. It left her feeling lost and confused and a little bit angry.

She'd been fine before he came along. Ok, maybe not _fine_ but she was used to making her own coffee. Used to solving things on her own. Independent enough to not miss having a partner. But she wasn't so sure she could go back to the way things were before him. She didn't _want_ to go back.

She was undoubtedly complicated. Undoubtedly the exact opposite of what he'd so brazenly pointed out was _right_ for him now. But she'd been working so hard. She thought she'd been making progress. She felt like they'd been on the verge of…everything not so long ago. And for what? For him to up and decide that he was happier returning to blonde bimbos who giggled over his red Ferrari?

The problem was, she couldn't be angry. The pain and doubt were far too overwhelming for her to keep up any pretense of anger.

The truth was that not a single a day had gone by since she'd heard him say those three words that she didn't long to say them back. It was terrifying. Terrifying to wonder if he meant them. To wonder if they were only a product of circumstance, a moment of desperation as he watched the life drain from her eyes.

It was even more terrifying to consider that he _did_ mean them. Because he deserved so much more than her broken, barely beating heart. He deserved someone without scars, without complications. Someone who could fill him with same warmth that he brought her. What if she was never enough?

She hated herself for being so damaged. For being such a coward. For not being able to own up to her secret. It only weighed heavier as time passed. _But she was fighting for it…for them. Damn it._ And just when she'd felt so close, he was suddenly unreachable.

His words were like a knife in her chest, cutting directly to her biggest insecurities as he'd walked away from her, straight into the arms of someone else. Someone who was all those things she feared she may never be.

So she'd changed her answer to Colin's invitation.

She'd known it was all wrong though. His eyes didn't crinkle in the corners when he laughed at a joke. His hand wasn't warm and solid at the small of her back. He was friendly enough, charming even. But there was no boyish grin, no banter, no playfulness in their interactions. And she only found herself counting down the time until his flight departed.

She suspected he knew her mind was elsewhere but he didn't press her for details. Only kissed her chastely on the cheek and said, "He'd be a fool to lose you, Kate."

She wasn't going to cry. _She wasn't._

She'd opened a bottle of wine after the cab dropped her off at her apartment. Swirled the warm red liquid around her glass before savoring its sharp taste against her tongue. Reveled in the way it clouded her senses. She wasn't usually one to dull the ache with alcohol. It was an all too painful reminder of the years spent trying to save her father from his addiction. But she was _so tired_. Exhausted from the careful façade she struggled to maintain in his presence, from the nights she hadn't been sleeping, and from the emptiness she felt inside.

She'd been about to pour another glass when she'd noticed the black dress hanging from her bedroom doorframe, where she'd placed it as a reminder that it needed dry cleaning. She ran her hand along the fabric and closed her eyes, losing herself in the memory of when she'd first tried it on.

Although it had only been a few months earlier, it felt like ages. It was an impulsive buy when she'd been dress shopping with Lanie for Ryan and Jenny's wedding. She'd only modeled it at Lanie's command but the moment she looked in the mirror she'd fallen in love.

She couldn't deny that she'd imagined wearing it for him. There had been a time in her life when she'd have scoffed at the idea of dressing up to impress a man. But there was something in the way he looked at her. Sure, he made his fair share of comments about her hotness and she'd caught him staring at her ass more than a few times at work but there were other times - in other dresses - when his eyes shone so full of awe and love that it made her feel like she was the only one in the room. She savored those moments, allowed them to fill her heart, chip away at the barriers.

And she'd thought that _just maybe_ by the time she had an occasion to wear this black gown, they'd be together. She no longer thought in terms of _if_ and had started believing in _when._

Before she realized it, she was stripping off her jeans and sweater, pulling the dress from its hanger and sliding it on.

The alcohol coursed through her body, deliciously dulling her reason, as she zipped the dress into place. On any other night she'd never indulge this behavior, never give in to this ridiculous urge to wallow in her misery. But she was about three glasses of wine past preserving dignity tonight. And it wasn't as if anyone was around to see her anyway. She was unequivocally _alone_.

If only she was on his arm tonight. If only there were no walls, no flight attendants, no bitter secrets between them, pulling them apart at the seams.

It was all she could do to stop the tears from flowing freely down her face as she examined her reflection in the mirror. Why was she doing this to herself? She took a step back and grimaced at her appearance.

Did she have some sort of masochistic need to relive the moment their eyes had met the night before? The way she noticed his breath catch for just a second. To torture herself as that brief glimmer of hope caused her own breath to stutter; and started a current of electricity that filled her veins before it turned to ice again. As if for just a moment it still meant something to him. That they might still mean something.

But in that instant it was gone. It was gone and she was taking the wrong man's arm. Turning away from the only man she wanted because he'd already given up on both the _if _and the _when._

She choked on a sob at the feeling and suddenly wished nothing more than to rip the fabric off her body. Burn it, destroy it, anything to rid herself of the cruel reminder that she no longer warranted the light that used to shine in his eyes for her. Looks that once spoke of always were now lifeless and void of emotion. The emptiness that swirled in the dark depths of blue threatened to swallow her.

She eased her body down the wall until she reached the floor, pulled her knees to her chest, and rested her head against them, as her body shook with silent tears.

She wasn't sure how long she stayed like that, arms curled tightly around legs. Literally holding herself together. Because if she didn't, no one else would.

From her spot on the floor she could see the box beneath her bed. It had been a long time since she'd needed it. Tonight she needed it.

* * *

Her hands were shaking as she unfolded the pages. She wasn't sure how she had managed to wait until she reached her apartment to read it that first time. Maybe on some level she'd known that if he'd taken the time to write it, it would affect her that way. Known that she couldn't handle it until she had privacy.

In her job, she was used to seeing darkness. Had discovered how to compartmentalize her life. But regardless of how many murders she'd investigated there was nothing like the long walk toward the body of someone she knew. Someone she cared for. She could still remember that day, walking towards Royce's body. It felt like a lifetime ago. Had it really been only a year?

Only a year since she'd flown across the country to LA. A year since she and Castle had sat on a couch, almost touching, so close. _So close to giving in_. She had been a mess then too. Mourning the loss of her training officer, a man she once loved, a friend she'd lost to betrayal. But she'd not been alone.

Royce's words had preoccupied her that whole trip.

_The last thing you want is to look back on your life and wonder… if only._

She could still feel her heart racing in her chest as she'd leaned back against the doorway. She had to run away. The way he was looking at her. The way his words had wrapped around her heart. It was too much. She couldn't fight it when he was looking at her like that. She _had_ to run.

_If only._

She couldn't stop the words. Not his, not Royce's. They blurred together, weaving through her mind as she gripped the doorknob.

She could still feel the mixture of relief and disappointment, as she'd found herself watching his own door closing behind him.

Another missed opportunity. Maybe it wasn't right then. Hell, nothing was right _now._ But maybe the problem was that she was always _waiting_.

_If only._

No matter how high she built the walls - no matter how well she'd learned to mask the pain, there was a part of her that wanted to crumble at the sight of him walking away. Every time he looked at her as if he didn't know her anymore she felt another piece of herself die inside.

How different would her life be now if she'd taken Royce's advice? Would she still be this broken mess, alone on her bedroom floor, in a dress that was meant for so much more than drunken tears?

Why couldn't she just be_ uncomplicated_?

She ran a finger along the grooves in the page and tried to imagine what Royce had been thinking as he wrote to her. Did he know he would die? That these would be his last words to her? Did he realize how they'd cut through her, leave her defenseless against the emotions she'd denied herself since the day Castle had walked away from her two summers ago?

They'd haunted her right alongside Castle's three words for the past year.

He must have known. He knew her better than she'd allowed anyone else to know her before she'd met Castle. Yet, she'd still pushed his words aside.

And that's what she was still doing wasn't it? Even though she knew that she was working on healing, trying to be better, she also knew she was being selfish. Lanie was right. How long did she really expect him to wait on her? Especially when she hardly felt worth waiting for.

_If only._ The words taunted her from the page, now smudged and crinkled from how many times she'd sat unfolding and refolding the letter. Her insecurities always won out. But she'd been so close. They were so close.

She picked up her phone, pausing over his name in the contacts list. She just…she still couldn't do it. Not after the way he'd left earlier. Not when he was likely occupied with another woman. She tossed her phone down onto the bed and walked away.

_If only._

* * *

_Thoughts?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Find Me Now - Chapter 2**_  
_

_"Well, she's fun and uncomplicated. I think that's what my life needs right now."_

It had been a mistake. All of it. The trip to Vegas, the flight attendant, the bitter words he knew he couldn't erase. Had he really been naïve enough to believe that any of it would help? That any of it could somehow fill the hole in his chest he'd felt ever since that sickening moment outside the interrogation room? None of it eased the pain. Not even a little.

If anything, it only made it that much worse.

He could feel himself withdrawing more and more each day. He'd thought he could do it. Thought that he could flip the switch, turn it off, carry on as though she didn't mean anything. But he'd been wrong. _God, he couldn't have been any more wrong._

And it was so damn frustrating. Why couldn't he be like her? Why did she get to be the one with all of the walls, unaffected, when he it felt like his entire world had caved in around him?

He'd never imagined it would end like this. He liked to think he was an optimist. Sure, he used humor to cope sometimes. Fell back on jokes when the reality of things became just a little too much. But he generally prided himself in his ability to not take things too seriously. Especially since he'd started working at the Twelfth. There was enough pain and sadness in what they faced each day. He _wanted_ to find the joy in each day. He wanted to believe in things. Wanted to hold out hope for _magic._

But he'd found himself wondering if his optimism had only blinded him to the truth. He'd _believed_ in her. Believed in _them. _And all for what? One subtext-laden conversation on a swing set when he'd known she wanted details about her mother's case from him? Details only _he_ could provide after that miserable summer when she'd run away.

He'd been _such_ a fool.

How had he not seen it? He'd told her he loved her. And maybe it wasn't the best timing. But he'd meant it. There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't wish he could tell her again. But she'd run. She _always_ ran.

It was enough for him when he'd thought she felt it too. _She_ was worth the wait. More than worth it. He'd wait forever as long as he knew she was in this with him.

But he felt so used. So misled.

He cringed at the thought of all the smiles he'd mistakenly interpreted as being for just him. At all the subtle and not so subtle innuendo that he'd considered meant something more for them…_someday._ Always waiting, hoping, following her lead.

It hurt like hell to be around her now. Seeing her was a constant reminder of everything he'd never have. He was so over feeling weak. Sick of being strung along. He wanted to cut her out of his heart the way she so easily deflected her own emotions.

So he'd gone to Vegas. Drank too much, blown an ungodly amount of money, and picked up a perky blonde on the way back. Jacinda was nice. _Fun and uncomplicated._ Exactly what he'd said was right for him now.

But not at all what he _wanted._ Not at all _who_ he wanted. He'd tried to tell himself he could have anyone else. A hundred Jacindas. The problem was he didn't _want_ anyone but Kate.

And damnit, where did that leave him?

Her secret made it painfully clear that she didn't want him_._

As angry and betrayed as he felt, those emotions were only a poor disguise for the much deeper pain of realizing that she'd never love him back.

He was a complete mess. He squeezed his eyes shut as he clenched the glass of scotch in his hand. His dinner date was long over and all he had left were the images of the last couple of days burned into his mind. They replayed endlessly as he sat alone at his desk.

That dress.

The moment he'd seen her walking through the precinct, all the air in his lungs had suddenly evaporated. He'd been suffocating, drowning in the surge of emotions that he couldn't push down. He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach.

She'd never looked more beautiful.

There'd been a moment. He'd known it. Had known she'd felt it too. Their eyes connected and he'd seen her catch her own breath. And just for that moment he'd almost forgotten, almost allowed himself to believe again. But like everything else, it was fleeting. Their gaze broken and it all came rushing back.

She'd lied to him.

She didn't love him.

And then she was on another man's arm - the _wrong _man's arm - looking devastatingly gorgeous and breaking his heart all over again. For the first time in weeks he couldn't mask the feelings. He was sure it had been written all over his face. None of this was fair. None of this was _right._

He hated himself more than a little for wanting her to be with him that night instead of Hunt. But that's all he could feel in that moment. He was so irrevocably in love with her_._

But she didn't love him.

It took everything he had to even show up at the precinct right now. It took everything to pretend that he wasn't dying inside every time he looked at her.

So he'd gone on another pointless dinner date. Another opportunity to prove to himself that he could replace her. But it was all _wrong_. It had always been wrong. He'd be lying to himself to not admit that. Jacinda's eyes didn't sparkle with flecks of gold when he said something funny. Her smile didn't light up the room like Kate's. There was no warmth that spread through him whenever her fingers lingered on his arm. She was pretty, no doubt. Bubbly, easy to talk to. Anything he would have wanted _before_. But there was no banter, no spark. A long list of things he'd realized were lacking. And he'd found himself counting down the minutes until he could just go home. _Alone_.

He hadn't slept with her. He could have. She'd been…eager. He'd kissed her several times. And each time, he regretted it more than the time before. He'd only wanted to forget…to feel something, _anything_, for someone else. But all he could see was Kate.

Her eyes, her smile, the sound of the moan that caught in the back of her throat when she'd kissed him back. It overpowered him. Made his stomach churn. She'd ruined him for anyone else.

So why did he feel the need to flaunt this woman at every opportunity? He didn't have feelings for her. On some level he was aware that he was being an ass. But he was hurting so much. He'd thought just maybe if he pretended that this was what he needed, it eventually would be. And what did it matter if Kate didn't care anyway?

He'd seen Hunt talking to her in the precinct that afternoon. Overheard enough to know that Hunt was asking her out. Enough to make him pick up the phone and dial Jacinda again. More than enough to throw out that _fun and uncomplicated_ were exactly what he needed now. He'd ignored the pained look on her face and walked away. Told himself she deserved it, even though he'd regretted the words the instant he'd spoken them.

He growled in frustration at the thoughts he just couldn't force from his mind. Downed the rest of his drink in one swift motion. He was too sober for this.

He refilled his glass with the bottle he'd started keeping in his desk drawer. He'd barely slept in weeks. Every time he closed his eyes he'd relive that interrogation. Heard her confession. Felt his heart shatter all over again.

He spent his time torn between falling apart and going through the motions, pretending to feel nothing. He wasn't sure which was worse anymore.

He felt the burn of the drink all the way down his throat. He wished it would burn everything else away along with it. He'd decided that tonight was the last night he'd see Jacinda. He'd spent their entire dinner wondering whether Kate was out with Hunt. His skinned crawled at the thought. His mind jumped through scenario after scenario. Did she find him charming? Would she lean into his touch? Would she let him kiss her? Would she kiss him back?

He suspected that Jacinda had noticed his preoccupation. She'd probably noticed it all along. It was a lost cause. _He_ was lost. When he'd told her he didn't think he could see her again, she'd smiled wistfully up at him and said, "Whoever she is, she's a lucky girl."

He'd forced himself not to laugh bitterly at the statement. If only she knew.

He buried his face into his hands. How had it all gone to hell so quickly?

It wasn't that long ago that they'd been dancing at Ryan's wedding, his hand at her waist, her arms secured around his neck, swaying dangerously close to the edge of their carefully guarded boundaries.

Wasn't that long since she'd so easily reached for his hand when he'd wanted to sink into the couch in embarrassment over his mother's play. He could still feel the electricity of her touch as her thumb traced circles over his skin.

So many nights that he'd longed to invite her over. Longed to run his hands over her body, prove to her that he was good enough. That he'd do anything for her. Be anything for her.

They'd been through so much in the past four years. And he'd just thought…he'd thought it meant something. Hell, who was he kidding? To him it'd become _everything_.

So how could it mean nothing to her? How could she lead him on so heartlessly?

He felt the pain rising up again and he struggled to choke it down.

Maybe it was time to just accept that he couldn't handle this anymore. Maybe it was time to walk away once and for all.

Now that always was only a ghost of a dream he'd once been so sure of.

His thoughts were harshly interrupted by the sound of his phone vibrating against the hard wood of the desk.

_Kate._

* * *

_Thoughts?_


	3. Chapter 3

AN: First, I just want to say thank you so much for the reviews and follows on this story. I'm blown away by the response and it's so amazing to hearing your thoughts. Just a quick note to say that I originally planned this to be three chapters but when I went to write this third chapter it wound up being incredibly long. I've got it almost completely finished but it seemed more natural to split into two chapters so this is the first part and there will be a fourth and final chapter posted, most likely tomorrow. Thank you again for reading and reviewing. Can't wait to hear what you think and I promise I'll reply to your reviews soon!

* * *

**Find Me Now - Chapter 3**

_"And the silence fell just like a stone. That got lost in the wild blue and gravel grey. Come and find me now." - Josh Ritter_

He stared down at his phone, listened to its vibration against the heavy wooden desk. Her picture flashed up at him from the call screen. _Kate._ He scowled at it. He didn't need this right now, not tonight. Not when he was this weak, vulnerable, way too likely to cave in to whatever request she may have. He didn't want to trail along after her at a crime scene. Couldn't face the reverberation of his words to her earlier, echoing painfully through his head. It'd be so much easier to push aside if he just took a few days. Tried to forget the devastated look on her face. Just a little time to erase the feeling that still clenched tightly within his chest at hearing Hunt ask her out. It was all such a mess. Besides, she'd leave a voicemail if it were anything important, right? If anything was _wrong_…

He forced himself to tear his eyes away from the now silent phone. His eyes flickered to the half-empty bottle of scotch still on his desk. He shook his head in disgust. What the hell was he doing? This wasn't him. He hadn't drowned himself in a drink over a woman since Meredith cheated on him. And even then, it had always been more about protecting Alexis and the regret that welled up within him every time he realized that she would never have the kind of mother around that she deserved. Yeah, back then it was just the bitterness of his rash decisions – never any longing for what could have been with Meredith.

And Gina. He'd never really been in love with her. They made sense together. Shared interests. A relationship of friendship and convenience. But there'd never been a spark. She never fueled any strong feeling of emotion in him. That's probably what had attracted him to her in the first place. It was easy. It didn't hurt. It didn't turn his life upside down when they'd split. They'd just returned to their previous roles.

No, the closest this came to was Kyra's departure from his life. He'd thought his world was ending then. She'd been the one he'd lost, the one that got away. But he'd poured himself into his writing. Used the feelings to fuel him, to grow, to _change_. He became Rick Castle. A man who was polished, charming, could have anyone he wanted. A man who'd been floundering, bored, and _lonely_ until the night Kate Beckett walked into his life and arrested his mind.

He hadn't even realized at the time what was missing. But now…

Now, he knew all too well what was missing without her. He just felt numb. He'd already tried writing. And failed miserably. Kate had somehow wrapped herself around every facet of his life. Even in his anger, even in the darkness he felt at her betrayal, he still loved her. _So much._ He couldn't go back to the way things had been. If he was honest with himself, he didn't _want _to go back. He'd been stubborn enough to try to convince himself that he could forget her. That he didn't need her in his life. That he was strong enough to pretend it didn't mean a thing. But it wasn't _really_ true.

Only, he didn't know where to go from here. He couldn't pretend anymore. But it hurt too damn much to see her every day. To watch her hopeful smile when he walked through the elevator doors. To see it crumble when he didn't return the smiles he'd spent four years offering to her. Four years of bringing her coffee, giving her his smiles, his laughter, his heart. And she'd never wanted any of it.

Everything hurt and he was out of answers. No more solutions to ease the pain. Except for one.

_Walk away._

But could he do it? The only way he knew how to survive Kate Beckett was to run. To get as far away as he could so that he wasn't reminded every day of what he'd never have. The love that she couldn't give him back. But wasn't that what she was always doing? Running away?

He was jolted out of his thoughts again by the sound of his voicemail tone. She'd left a message. His hands were unsteady as he picked up the phone, thumbing across the bottom slide to unlock it. He sighed. As much as he didn't want to, he _had_ to listen. Had to know why she was calling. She wasn't even here and she still had that much pull on him.

He pressed play and held the phone to his ear.

* * *

She'd been pacing in her kitchen for fifteen minutes. She'd already dumped out the rest of the wine. Suddenly angry at herself for being so weak. She was more than enough of a mess without drinking.

But she needed _something_. She was so tired and lonely and miserable and just needed something. She needed _him_.

But she refused to call. He'd made it clear earlier that day that he wasn't interested. And the possibility of getting his voicemail sent visions of he and Jacinda spiraling through her head. It was hard enough listening to him brag about their lunch dates…and dinner dates…and about how much _fun_ she was. It made her sick to her stomach. Her skin crawled at the thought of them together, possibly…no she wasn't even going there. He wasn't hers to claim. He was allowed to do whatever he wanted with _whomever_ he wanted.

So she wouldn't call. Couldn't face any more of his cold rejections tonight.

But that didn't stop her from wanting him. From longing for even so much as a smile, a simple touch. Anything to reassure her that everything hadn't already been lost. Whatever this was. Whatever she'd done or _hadn't_ done. She'd do anything to fix it.

Unfortunately it wasn't going to happen tonight. Not when she was still a coward in a tear-stained, black evening gown that she'd most likely ruined, and he was with someone else, decidedly _not her_. So she'd been pacing. Trying to figure out what to do.

Her mind suddenly flashed back to the first time she'd ever thought her heart was broken. She'd been in high school. Thinking about it now, it was all so silly. She'd dated the boy for all of two months. But it was high school and that was a long-term relationship in those days – that was _love_.

She'd been so proud of herself for not crying while they were on the phone, for being able to wait until it was over. But as soon as he'd hung up with her, she'd burst into tears. Cried and cried, hugging her pillow until she felt her mother's warm hand running up and down her back.

She could still feel her arms enveloping her. Could still remember the smell of her perfume. Comforting, loving her, telling her that it was all going to be okay – maybe not that day or even the next – but that it would be okay, eventually. She was strong.

If she could just talk to her tonight, curl into her embrace – maybe she'd believe in her mother's promise again. Maybe it would be okay somehow. She swiped at a tear, as it fell across her cheek. As she looked across the kitchen, she suddenly knew what she could do.

_Hot chocolate._

Her mother had made her hot chocolate. She'd done it that night after coaxing her out of her room to the couch. She could still picture her by the stove warming the milk and cocoa. She'd carried the steaming mugs to the living room and they'd wrapped up in big blankets watching Temptation Lane for hours until they were both laughing again. Making fun of the ridiculous scenarios, backstabbing stepmothers, jilted ex-lovers. She smiled at the memory. She hadn't thought of that particular night in years.

It wouldn't be the same tonight without her mom. But maybe it'd help. Even if just a little. She grabbed her keys off the countertop. She didn't want the instant packets she had in her cabinet. She wanted to make her mom's recipe so she'd have to go to the store. She strode out the door, not caring that she was a complete mess. Not caring about anything but the memory of the cocoa, filling her with warmth that night so long ago. She longed to feel that warmth again.

* * *

He was in a cab. It went against everything he'd told himself in the past few weeks -every bitter thought, every angry word…but there he was, in a cab. He'd tried to ignore it. Tried to brush it off as nothing. But it ate at him, tugged at his heart - his instinct to protect her, make sure she was okay.

There hadn't been anything in the voicemail. Nothing but the muffled sound of footsteps and maybe…crying? He couldn't really tell. But it stirred a fear in him. He couldn't take it. Something was wrong.

He'd tried to push it aside. She could take care of herself. But the voicemail was too unsettling. Images of the day she was shot flooded his mind. If she was hurt, if someone had broken into her place, and he didn't at least check, he'd never forgive himself. She didn't leave voicemails like this - didn't just call for no reason. Something had to be off. With Kate, he could never be too sure that she wasn't in danger. Ever since the night he'd barely gotten to her, just in time to feel the color drain from his face as he'd watched, horrified by the explosion in her apartment. He'd vowed to be there to protect her.

So he couldn't just ignore it. No matter how much he hated himself. Hated the idea of running after her. He couldn't fight it. She was still everything. He just had to be sure.

He'd forced himself to call her back. If he heard her voice that'd be enough. No need to talk. Hell, he couldn't really talk to her after the way they'd left things earlier that day. But at least if he heard her voice, he'd know she wasn't somewhere with her life hanging in the balance and no backup.

She hadn't picked up. His fear escalated with each unanswered ring. He'd waited five minutes and tried again. Still, nothing. His nerves were shot from culmination of everything that day. He'd given up. Could no longer keep himself from going to her. She'd be the death of him but he couldn't live knowing that she was in danger and he'd done nothing but persist in his bitterness.

And now he was in a cab, pulling up in front of her apartment in the middle of the night.

He paid the cab driver and nodded to the night doorman as he walked through the door to her building. "Been a while, Mr. Castle," the man said, smiling. He knew his responding smile was thin but it was about all he could muster as he continued to the elevator. He shifted impatiently between his feet as he waited for the doors to open.

It was a slow climb, which did nothing to help his nerves. He had no idea what to expect. He'd told himself that he wouldn't stay. He wasn't going to talk to her. It was not the night for that. Not at all. Knock on the door, explain the call and walk away. As quick as possible.

He forced himself to take a deep breath before he knocked. It shouldn't be this difficult. It shouldn't be like he was about to talk to a stranger. But that's how he felt. Like he'd never really known her at all. Maybe he hadn't.

He rapped on the door several times, waiting for the sound of footsteps that didn't come. He felt the fear rise in his throat again. He knocked a third time. Still no sound from inside.

Before he realized what he was doing, he was fumbling for her key on his ring. The one she'd given him for emergencies. He could remember her stern admonition, "_Emergencies only, Castle._" It felt like an emergency. This never-ending, broken day.

He stepped carefully into the apartment, eyes scanning the room for any signs of Kate or someone else who may have gotten in. It was silent. No sign of anyone. Just a single lamp glowing from her living room.

He called out her name several times, just to be sure, as he walked through her place. He paused at the entry to her bedroom. He'd never been in there before. Funny how this night was the first time he'd ever seen it. Not exactly what he'd imagined the first time would be like. But then again, nothing was supposed to happen this way.

He spotted her phone, upside down on the bed. She'd been here then? Not long ago. He opted to leave it there, somehow not feeling it was right to enter the room. He doubted she'd want him in there.

When he made his way back to the kitchen he noticed the empty wine bottle on her counter, next to a couple of crumpled pages. He really shouldn't look. This was her stuff. She'd kill him for snooping. But he had to stay, right? He couldn't just leave not knowing she was okay.

He sighed, resigning himself to sit down in one of the kitchen chairs. Curiosity getting the better of him, he reached for the pages and began to read.

It was a letter. From Royce. He startled at the realization that this was what Lanie had given Kate the day they'd found his body in the alley. Before they'd flown to LA. So Royce had written Kate this letter? He'd always been curious but he didn't want to pry. He was grateful enough to have convinced her to stay with him that week. Grateful just to be able to be there for her.

He thought about that week often. Back before everything with Montgomery. Back before she'd been shot. It had felt like they'd been on the brink of something then. He could still picture them sitting on the couch in the hotel room. So close to the edge of all those carefully placed boundaries. He'd sworn he could feel it. That _she_ could feel it too. The way she'd looked at him that night. The silence after he'd told her once again how amazing she was. God, he'd wanted to kiss her so badly. Had almost reached out to her as she stood. Wanted to beg her not to run anymore.

But the timing was off. It was always off. And now, he wondered if it'd all been in his head anyway.

He felt his eyes watering as he reached the end of the letter. She'd had this, Royce's words, about _them_ all this time. And she'd still never said anything. Oh, it hurt. It hurt so much. A fresh wave of emotion hit him at once. If he needed any more confirmation that she didn't return his feelings, this was it. She would have listened to Royce. Royce was her mentor, Royce had believed Castle and Kate had _something_ and she hadn't done anything. Hadn't said anything. Had still lied to him all this time. He felt sick. It was like the waves of pain just kept coming. Every time he'd thought he couldn't feel worse…

He had to get out of there. Now. He shoved the chair back and dropped the letter to the countertop where it had been. It felt like the walls were closing in. He couldn't see her. Not after reading this. He was running while he still could. He felt completely and utterly defeated. He didn't care if it was cowardly anymore. Anything was better than this feeling.

There was a voice nagging in the back of his head that asked why she would have been reading this letter tonight. A night when she was supposed to be out with Hunt. But that voice was overpowered by the suffocating feeling in his lungs. He needed air.

He needed –

Just as he was halfway there, the door clicked open and suddenly, she was in front of him.

He didn't know it was possible for someone to look so devastatingly beautiful and broken all at the same time. He couldn't breathe. She was in _the dress_. The one that had been haunting his memories for the last thirty-six hours. Granted it looked a lot more disheveled now. But it still clung to her body like it was made for her, illuminated her curves perfectly, elegant and breathtaking. And he knew there was no way he would survive this.

* * *

_Thoughts?_


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Still amazed at the response this little story that was only supposed to be a oneshot has gotten! I appreciate your reading and reviewing so much and really hope you enjoy this last chapter. And as always, thank you ER and Nic - without you I'd be sad and whiny and never have the nerve to post anything. I love you both!

* * *

**Find Me Now – Chapter 4**

"_You don't know it's right until it's wrong. You don't know it's yours until it's gone. I didn't know that it was home 'til you up and left. _

_Come and find me now." – Josh Ritter_

She almost dropped the bag of ingredients. She couldn't move. Couldn't even bring herself to shut the door behind her. What was he doing in her apartment? She didn't know what time it was exactly. But it was really late. And he hadn't called or anything. Wait…_shit_. She'd left her phone on her bed. Hadn't even thought about it as she'd left.

He was staring at her like he'd seen a ghost. This…she couldn't deal with this tonight. The mixture of longing and fear in his eyes was breaking her heart all over again. He looked like she'd just kicked him in the stomach. Like he'd rather be anywhere but here. But _he_ was the one in _her _apartment. And she couldn't think of a single reason why.

"Castle, w-what are you doing here?" she barely managed to get out.

The words seemed to snap him from his haze. He almost looked like he'd been crying. The longer they stood there frozen, the more self-conscious she felt. Oh God, she was still in the dress. No wonder he was staring at her. She was a wreck. A thirty something version of a girl who'd just been broken up with at the prom.

At least she wasn't the only one who appeared to be at a loss for words. She watched as he opened his mouth to respond then closed it again, as if he didn't know how to explain. After a pause he finally mumbled, "You called me, Kate." And even more quietly, "Don't I always come when you call?"

She was confused. She hadn't even had her phone. Not since she'd thrown it on the bed…_oh_. Oh, geez. It must have dialed him when it landed, having been on his contact page last. It was probably on vibrate too. She'd never have heard it from the kitchen.

And he'd thought something was wrong. He must have, otherwise he wouldn't be here. She couldn't even begin to bring herself to decipher the subtext behind the second half of what he'd said. She felt herself deflate, suddenly so very tired again.

"I'm sorry. I sort of tossed my phone down earlier and it must have dialed you by accident," she said, sighing.

She watched as his shoulders sagged and he looked down, avoiding her eyes. "It left a weird voicemail," he mumbled again. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right. But I can see that you're busy with something. So, I guess I'll be going."

He took a step towards the still open door and she felt the panic rising in her. _He was here._ He looked like as much of a wreck as she felt but he was _here_. That had to mean something, right? She'd spent the entire night wishing she could just talk to him and now he was _here_. Now he was _leaving_ before she had the chance.

"Castle, wait," she called out quickly, surprising them both as she grabbed his arm, keeping him from the door.

The touch was electric. She felt it the moment her fingers wrapped around his bicep and their eyes met. The spark that still thrummed between them. She couldn't let go. She had to convince him to stay. This meant too much and she was done denying it.

"Please?" she asked, softly.

She felt him suck in a breath and his body stiffened. She reluctantly took a step back, dropping her arm and hating the loss of connection immediately.

He looked down at her, his gaze sharper, more intense. "Why?" he asked.

She shook her head, confused. "Why…what do you mean, why?"

"Give me a reason why I should stay, Beckett?"

_Oh_, oh Castle. _Because I've never felt this ruined since my mother died. Because I can't stand the thought of losing you too. Because…I love you._

"I just…I hoped maybe we could talk."

He huffed out a laugh that echoed bitterly throughout the room. "Since when we do _talk_?"

She swallowed nervously and looked down at the floor. "I guess I deserve that."

She heard him sigh. "Look, Beckett, it's late. I really should –"

"I was going to make hot chocolate," she blurted out, stumbling over the words, cutting him off.

"Huh?" he looked at her, startled.

"I – I was – I went to the store to get stuff to make hot chocolate. That's what I was about to do. Just - could you stay? Have some with me? I know it's late…and that you don't owe me anything. But I know I must have done something wrong. You're upset with me. And I…"

Her voice broke and she paused for a minute trying to summon the strength to say the words.

He looked at her warily but he made no further move toward the door as he waited.

She took a deep breath. "I told you once, a long time ago, that I know I'm not the easiest person to get to know and I don't always let on what's on my mind. You're right. We talk in subtext. We avoid the direct conversations. But I want to fix this. I _need_ to fix this. You're my partner, Castle. So please, give me a chance?"

She stood there, terrified to look for his reaction, praying her words would be enough to convince him not to walk out the door.

"Hot chocolate?" he asked, voice sounding all too weary.

She let out the breath she didn't even realize she'd been holding and raised her head, finally meeting his gaze. "Hot chocolate," she said, nodding. She closed the door at last and walked toward the stove.

* * *

He'd meant to leave. He'd been so close to escaping. One foot out the door. He could still feel her hand on his arm. Could still see her eyes pleading with him not to go, threatening tears. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd ever seen Kate Beckett cry. And she'd clearly been crying tonight. He was lost. He really had no clue why she wanted him there but since when had he ever been able to resist her?

He was already in misery. He was already never going to be able to sleep tonight, even if he left. What good did any of it do? His heart was broken. He'd seen too much, heard too much. He might as well listen to whatever it was she thought she had to say. But that didn't mean anything could be fixed.

He watched as she pulled ingredients out of the grocery bags and he pointedly ignored the letter that still sat too close for his comfort.

"This won't take long, I promise," she said, whilst pouring water into a pot on the stovetop.

He nodded half-heartedly and looked back down. As much as he wanted to pretend that this was just another night, just another visit to her place, he couldn't do it. He couldn't act like everything was fine. But he'd already done his damage earlier and still felt the shame of those two biting words…_fun _and_ uncomplicated_. He couldn't bring himself to fight with her. He was just too drained. So he decided to wait her out. She said she had things to say. For what it was worth, he could listen.

It was silent for a few minutes. Only the sound of the water heating on the stove and her steps throughout the kitchen as she prepared the milk, cocoa, sugar, and salt. She laid out everything, almost reverently. And even in his weariness, he found himself entranced by the natural grace of her movements.

"My mom used to make this recipe. Mostly around Christmas but sometimes, it was like she just knew exactly when I needed something comforting. She'd always make it and we'd wrap up in blankets on the couch. I don't know. I just thought maybe, if I made it tonight, I'd have a small part of that feeling again. That maybe I'd find some piece of hope that things would be alright again."

He listened to her speak, his writer's mind creating the scene. He could so vividly see it, this younger, less guarded Kate. Coming home from school after a fight with a friend, a bad grade on a test, perhaps a break up with a boyfriend. Still determined, still stubborn but, smaller, more easily bruised, only traces of the future Beckett. A Kate who had allowed her mother to hold her, comfort her, convince her that there were things left to believe in.

All the things that he'd wished so desperately she'd allow him to be for her. All the things he apparently wasn't good enough for. Yet, he was here _now_, and she was giving him another one of these small pieces of her past. And he just had to know. Had to ask.

"What are you hoping for, Kate?"

She met his eyes, seemed to be willing something to him that he couldn't comprehend. The depths of green mixed with hazel shone brightly in the glow of the light, glimmering with a desperation he hadn't seen since the day she was dying in his arms.

"I was hoping for you, Castle," she said softly.

Hoping for _him_? But…she'd had him. Had him all along. Right there for four years and it hadn't done a damn bit of good in any of this.

"Hoping for what, Kate? That I'd go back to following you around every day, waiting around for something I'll never have. I can't do it anymore. I _won't _do it anymore," he emphasized, feeling the anger rise again.

She was turned away, finally mixing the cocoa and milk into the water, but he saw her freeze at his words.

He wasn't done, though. Now that he'd started, he couldn't stop. She had unleashed the dam of emotions inside him. If they were going to do this - actually _talk_ - he was going to say what he needed to say.

She turned to face him, finally, her skin pale and hands shaking as she set down the mugs she'd prepared.

"I know you heard me, Kate. That day…in the cemetery. I know you've been lying to me all this time. And now, tonight, I see this letter here," he said, voice cracking with pain, as he gestured toward the pages.

Her mouth opened and shut, the words dying on her lips before she could speak, as the realization spread across her features. Pain and regret written all over her face. Like she knew exactly what she'd done. Exactly how much she'd hurt him.

"I shouldn't have read it, it's yours and it's private, but everything else has already gone to hell so I figured at this point what's one more dagger to my heart. What's one more indication of how little you care?"

Her eyes were brimming with tears, the hot chocolate forgotten behind her.

"Castle," she breathed, his name barely a whisper on her lips. He could see her crumbling with each passing second, as the silence seemed to stretch forever in the space between them.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," she spoke the words so quietly he almost couldn't hear them.

She looked like she couldn't breathe. Her fingers gripped the countertop, as though she may fall apart if she let go.

His throat clogged. How had they gotten to this point? As angry and hurt as he was, he could hardly bear to see her this way either. Like he'd just sucked all of the life out of her. He simultaneously hated himself for hurting her and hated her for hurting him. This was all a mistake coming here tonight. He'd been wrong. It could get worse, _this_ _was_ worse.

"You should have just told me. If you'd just said it back then, maybe we could have salvaged a friendship. It would have hurt. But it'd have been better than this. Don't you think, Kate? Don't you think you owed me more than stringing me along all this time?" he finished, voice breaking, as his own tears threatened.

"Castle, no, that's not…" her voice trailed off, as if she didn't know where to start, and he cut her off, continuing.

"When you left that summer, it felt like you'd actually died that day. I kept waiting and waiting for you to call. To have any reassurance that you were okay. It was bad enough then, always waiting for a call that never came. A call you didn't care enough to make. But to find out you knew how I felt, and you still didn't call, not even once…"

He hung his head, couldn't bear to watch her cry, even with his own heart shattered and broken, he never wanted to see her cry.

"I don't know how to fix this," she choked out, voice wavering. "I was selfish, I know that. I never…I never meant to make you feel this way. I never meant to string you along. God, Castle, I never meant to hurt you in this. Damnit, that's why I left, that's why I've been working on everything. So that I wouldn't hurt you…and that's all I've done isn't it?"

She paused for a moment, and his breath caught in his lungs as he waited.

"There's not a day that went by that I didn't want to call you. Just to hear your voice, your laugh. I was such a wreck. I felt like I'd died too. Part of me wished I'd died that day. I was suffocating with a hole in my chest and I didn't deserve your words. I couldn't find a single reason why you'd mean them, why I'd be worthy of them," she paused, her voice breaking again.

He stared at her, unbelieving, his own eyes glistening, as he watched her struggle with the words. He wanted to run, he wanted to forget the last year, he wanted to pull her towards him, catch her tears with his thumb, kiss them away. But she wasn't his. She didn't love him back.

"You words are everything to me, Castle," she whispered. She took a shaky breath, trying to gather the strength to say what she needed to say. "They're such a large part of what healed me. They gave me the strength to get better. To come back. To finally face things instead of running," she continued, voice growing stronger, as she walked toward him.

"I've been working so hard to do everything I could to be in a place where we had a real chance. To be able to say them back to you if I ever was worth…your love," she finished, looking him in the eye, the depths of her emotion nearly overpowering him.

He could hardly believe what she was saying. The heaviness of the lies and the betrayal he felt still clung bitterly to his heart.

"But you lied," he said, voice full of unspoken questions. "You lied all this time. Every day knowing how I felt. How could you do that if you…" he asked, voice trailing off, suddenly unsure of all he'd been telling himself.

"I was scared, Castle, scared of everything. Scared that if you knew that I knew, you wouldn't wait. Scared that you _would_ wait and I'd never be good enough, never be what you needed. I just…I couldn't lose you," she said, ashamed.

"So you used me, Kate? Did what you needed to do, said just enough to keep me around, following after you like a puppy," he said bitterly.

"Of course I didn't want you to leave, Castle. You bring such joy to my days. You make me laugh, keep me from drowning in the darkness of my job. But, I wasn't trying to use you. I'd never use you," she said, narrowing her eyes in confusion.

"Then, why not just tell me you don't feel the same, Kate?" He could barely get the words out. This was it. He'd forced her hand, forced her to own up to it. And it was going to kill him. But he had to hear it. Had to confirm it before he could walk away and try to begin to recover from the loss of all he'd hoped for since he'd realized she was it for him.

Her eyes snapped to his immediately, widening in shock, her mouth falling open, sick with fear. "That's really what you think?" she asked, incredulous. "How could you believe that?"

He shook his head, defeated, suddenly feeling childish. "What else should I think?" he replied. "You run away, lie about hearing me, admit it like it's nothing to a suspect, hang onto this letter from Royce all this time, never saying anything, never doing anything but leading me on."

She stepped even closer, coming around the counter to stand beside him, and swallowed nervously before speaking.

"Oh, Castle," she spoke softly, regret shining in her eyes. "You're so very wrong."

He looked down at her, waiting for her to continue, terrified, lost, and confused. _Wrong_?

"I thought you…understood, that day on the swings. I told you I wanted to be better. To have the kind of relationship I wanted. To be whole again."

He nodded ever so slightly. "I remember," he said, voice low, gruff with emotion.

"Well, I want to say it again. I need you to understand. I want to be better for _you_, Castle. For _us_," she continued, reaching up to frame his face with her hands, swiping her thumb across his cheek to catch a tear he hadn't even realized had fallen.

"I've screwed it all up. I know that. But, Castle, I've been in love with you since long before you ever said those words to me."

He felt like he was going to pass out. His mind was spinning. He couldn't be hearing her right. It wasn't possible. She wasn't…she was _in love with him_? All the smiles, the subtext, the touches that he'd hope meant something - the ones he'd thought he'd imagined, played in his head again. She loved him? _She loved him, too._

Her voice grew stronger, emboldened as she continued to speak. As though she'd only ever needed to say it once. To give him the words. "I am so in love with you, Castle, that the thought of you walking out of my apartment tonight…the thought of you walking out of my life is unbearable. And I understand if I'm too late but I had to say it…I had to tell you-"

His mouth was on hers before he could stop himself. He cradled her body in his arms, wrapped himself around her, pulled her closer as he poured everything into the kiss. Oh God, they'd both been such fools all this time. They both made mistakes. _She loved him. She was in love with him._

She was moaning into his mouth, as she kissed him back feverishly, opening to him. His hands tangled in her hair when she cradled his face, ran her fingers over his ears, finally came to rest at the nape of his neck. He was kissing her and she loved him.

He'd never felt like this before. He broke from her mouth to pepper kisses along her jaw, down her neck. Laid his hand against the scar on her chest, reverently, before looking up to meet her eyes again. He'd replayed the memories of their first kiss in the alley a million times. But this was…this was different. This was _everything._ She loved him too. And even though his heart ached with the strain of the day, the weeks, the year, somehow he knew they would survive this together.

* * *

He was kissing her. He was kissing her like she was the only person on earth and she was melting into his arms. It'd never been like this with anyone else. She was on fire, burning in his embrace, solid and healing around her. She couldn't stop the moan from escaping as his tongue slipped into her mouth, deepening the kiss. She was surrounded by him, by everything they'd finally said, by the love that had given her the strength to rebuild herself without the wall around her heart. And she never wanted him to stop. Oh, _she loved him._

She'd nearly fallen apart in front of him in the kitchen. The mournful sound of his words as he'd admitted his belief that she didn't love him – would never love him – they were like a knife to her heart. How could he have ever thought that? How could she have screwed this up so incredibly much?

There were still a hundred things that needed to be said. They were both still damaged, still reeling from the mistakes and lies and misunderstandings. But when they finally broke apart, breathless, foreheads resting against each other, she knew it was going to be okay. He still _loved her_. She hadn't lost him.

"I'm sorry too," he whispered against her cheek. "God, I'm so sorry Kate. I just want you. All I've ever wanted was you."

And then it was her kissing him. Their apologies and forgiveness poured into the way their mouths slanted together, soothing, comforting, easing the pain. She'd spend a million days working to repair them if that's what it took. Anything, just to feel the touch of his hands, his mouth against hers, his _love_.

She felt the weight of the last year being lifted from her chest. Could finally breathe again.

And standing there, wrapped up in his embrace, she knew that regardless of their mistakes, she'd never give up on this, on _him. _This man who'd shown her how to _live_ again. It felt like she was finally coming _home._

* * *

_Thoughts?_


End file.
